


Auctoratus

by stiction



Series: Primacy (yelling all the way down) [9]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Bad Acting, Gladiators, M/M, Power Play, Roleplay, starscream gets what starscream wants (as long as he asks nicely)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25319410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stiction/pseuds/stiction
Summary: It had become clear during negotiations, despite Megatron’s indifferent assertion that submission matches were largely urban legend or vid file fantasy, that within the complex universe Starscream had built up for this scene it was known that thespoils—Orion winced internally each time to think the word—went to the victor.Orion avoided thinking critically about the implications this held for that universe.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime, Megatron/Optimus Prime/Starscream, Megatron/Orion Pax/Starscream, Optimus Prime/Starscream
Series: Primacy (yelling all the way down) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1424047
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	Auctoratus

“Has it truly come to this?” Orion asked. 

The dark outline of his opponent shifted in the shadows. 

“It was always going to come to this,” that voice rumbled. 

Orion’s plating flexed as a murmur rippled from the audience. 

“Megatron,” Orion said. 

“Orion,” Megatron answered, stepping smoothly into the pool of light. His hands twitched as if he missed his usual weaponry. Orion’s hands, also empty, tightened to fists. He paced idly to the side and Orion mirrored, circling. “Do you honestly believe you stand a chance? Here, in my domain?”

“I do not wish to hurt you,” Orion said. Against his will, his processor had already begun to catalogue potential weak spots on Megatron’s frame. There were very few. 

Megatron laughed, a mean, low thing. “And yet, you must.”

“ _ Enough. _ ” 

They halted as one at the cold voice that rang out from above. Orion felt the first budding string of anxiety. Megatron only looked as defiant as he ever had in the pits of Kaon. The main difference, Orion thought, was that Megatron was not yet dripping with energon. 

Orion flinched at the next instruction. Megatron caught it—he could tell by the sharp look around Megatron’s optics. He would have to be more careful with his weaknesses. 

“The first to draw energon is the winner.”

Orion would have to keep it brief. Play it smart. He didn’t have the brute strength to overpower Megatron, nor the endurance to outlast him. There would be no showmanship involved. 

“Begin.”

Orion stepped deliberately sideways, unsurprised when Megatron followed. He thought again how strange it was to see Megatron unarmed. It made him no less dangerous, only more unpredictable. He knew from watching countless other matches that Megatron rarely struck first. It was not patience but self-discipline. 

He would have to make the first move. 

Megatron countered his strike easily, pulling Orion’s arm across his chest and slamming the flat of his forearm against Orion’s helm. 

Orion stumbled back, thought, well surely that was the end of it, surely he was already bleeding from a crumpled finial, but when he raised a cautious hand to his helm there was only a shallow dent and unblooded scratches. Sheer luck. Orion had never really considered himself lucky. He was less than lucky again almost immediately as Megatron stepped forward to bring himself close and swung for Orion’s side. 

He managed to deflect most of the force and aimed his own fist at Megatron’s chassis. The hit connected, Megatron grunting as they separated again. The look in Megatron’s optics had gone from cold determination to anger. All of the cables in Orion’s arm were humming with the reverberation. He lifted his fists in front of his face regardless, recalculating. The longer the fight went, the more liable Megatron was to overpower him, whether by virtue of physical advantage or his growing rage. 

What Orion knew of Megatron’s non-lethal battle inclinations led him to believe that the next strike would again be aimed at his helm, in order to further disorient him. He was not expecting Megatron to try to drive a knee through his abdomen. The best counter Orion had was bending at the knee to loop his arm around Megatron’s leg and pull, sending both of them to the ground in a pile. 

Megatron’s growl rattled in Orion’s protoform as they wrestled. Orion’s processor strained against performing tasks it had not been designed for, racing to form a strategy. He had the dexterity advantage, an extrapolated scrap of data argued, but it did little good when he was so far outclassed in weight. Instinct took over. As their legs tangled, Orion pushed his center of gravity over the cabling of Megatron’s thighs. Those cables were heavily built, but they would still give with enough pressure. Their plating slid and locked. Orion reared back, elbow dropping for a jab, and was knocked out of it as Megatron seized purchase on his chassis. A shock of discomfort radiated out from the dented plating and Orion further bent his leg around Megatron’s. There was a savage, disjointed pleasure to be taken from the audible grit of Megatron’s dentae. Orion seized onto it. He was more flexible. Megatron’s cables and joints would give way before his own if he could maintain the hold.

Megatron pushed against the lock of Orion’s legs, pulling as he did on the plating on Orion’s back and bringing their faces close. The sudden sharp line of his grin made Orion shiver and press his weight more firmly on the taut cable in Megatron’s knee. Megatron only grunted and yanked him closer, until his mouth was only a micrometer from Orion’s audial. 

“Starscream’s going to be insufferable about this, you know.”

“What?”

Megatron clutched him tighter, halting Orion’s surprised twist. 

“Going to be unbearable now that he’s had us wrapped around his finger. Going to have us calling him  _ Lord _ every time he graces us with his presence.”

“Stop,” Orion hissed, fighting to rein in an unwilling laugh. “It is difficult enough to remain in character as it is.”

“Oh?” Megatron muttered. His hand on Orion’s kibble disappeared and slipped instead between them to dig at the edge of a windshield. His smile widened as Orion tried to arch away, his laugh finally spilling over. He disguised it ineffectively as a grunt of pain. “You had better end the fight soon, then.”

With that, Megatron rolled them, the movement of his hand to his hip clearly telegraphed. Orion had just enough time to reach and catch Megatron’s wrist before the knife met his throat. They held there, frozen, the cables in Orion’s arm barely beginning to falter under the weight. Megatron gave him the opening: with a shift of his grip, the inside of his elbow joint was exposed. 

Orion took it. 

Megatron had taught him, vorns ago, how to effectively use his weight against a larger target.  _ You need to be prepared _ , he had said, but Orion had received only a flat look upon recounting the story to Ratchet.

“He probably wanted an excuse to get his hands on you,” Ratchet had scoffed, and Orion had only smiled and said, “Well, I cannot imagine why he thinks he needs an excuse.” 

They sparred infrequently enough these days that Orion had gone to Ironhide, instead, to prepare. It paid off now in the genuine ripple of shock over Megatron’s face when Orion braced his weight on the floor, slipped his leg from Megatron’s waist to his knee, and managed to flip them again. Megatron’s wrist turned in his grip, whether from his surprise or his deliberate acquiescence Orion didn’t know, and they stopped there, clinched, Orion’s fuel pump thrumming with the exertion. His optics locked on the point of the knife where it hovered above the lines of Megatron’s neck. 

Here a familiar fear seized him. Megatron watched him closely, and Orion couldn’t help but watch him in return. He saw the dawning comprehension. 

“Orion,” Megatron murmured. “I will be fine.”

“I know,” Orion answered. Over the sound of their frames humming, he could hear Starscream start to fidget, impatient, in the background. Likely leaning forward for a better angle, or maybe pressing a hand to his panel already, anticipating what was coming. “I know, I—”

The hydraulics in Megatron’s arms faltered theatrically. Orion did not have to pretend to shake. It was easy, he told himself as he pressed his weight onto Megatron’s arm. The give was controlled, smooth, and it sent the tip of the knife across the lines in Megatron’s neck. The nick was shallow but energon burst forth regardless, staining the blade and splattering to the floor in a spray that looked far more impressive than it was. 

Orion held firm. Megatron let his helm tip back against the tile, his vents rough as the energon running from his wound slowed to a trickle. The dim light of his optics bore into Orion’s. 

Behind then, a slow, cold clap rang out. 

“Bravo,” Starscream drawled. “You, the victor—what was your name again?”

Orion took his time pushing up to his knees. The plating on his legs ground and pulled against Megatron’s. His frame dumped heat as his chassis, separated from the furnace that was Megatron, quickly cooled. He pulled the knife from Megatron’s unresisting hand and tossed it toward the corner of the room. 

“Orion Pax,” he said. His voice sounded deeper than usual. He felt ridiculous. The burn of Starscream’s optics helped a little, as did the gathered charge in Megatron’s protoform. 

“Well,  _ Orion Pax _ ,” Starscream said. Orion could just barely make out Starscream’s frame in the shadows, sprawled as he was across the chair they had set atop the short table from the living room. The rustling of the cape over his plating was fully audible and, Orion suspected, intentionally so. “You were certainly a surprising victor.”

Orion bent his helm. “Thank you, my lord.”

Starscream’s fans clicked on. Orion managed to fully stifle his laugh, only by virtue of disabling his vocalizer and stalling his own vents. Megatron had been right: Starscream most certainly  _ would _ be insufferable after this. 

Starscream covered for it with a dismissive wave of his hand, visible as it flirted with the edge of the lighting in their berthroom. The spotlight was on loan from a friend of a friend. The cape had been unearthed in the inventory of an old Council storeroom. Orion had asked Ratchet about it on impulse, long before they had started to plan, and been forcefully gifted an entire crate of old finery. It hit him again, then, how intricately crafted and ridiculous the entire thing was. 

“Take your prize, Orion Pax.”

Orion didn’t try to feign ignorance. It had become clear during negotiations, despite Megatron’s indifferent assertion that submission matches were largely urban legend or vid file fantasy, that within the complex universe Starscream had built up for this scene it was known that the spoils—Orion winced internally each time to think the word—went to the victor. 

Orion avoided thinking critically about the implications this held for that universe. It was enough, now, to think back on the long talks at the table that spilled over into lying around in berth, exhausted but determined, and know that things were playing out as planned. It was enough, now, to feel the way the low-level charge in Megatron’s frame jumped slightly when Orion’s attention fell back to him. The sullen scowl on Megatron’s mouth was betrayed by the glint of amusement in his field. 

_ i told you _ , Megatron commed him.  _ insufferable. _

_ Hush,  _ Orion replied. He reached for Megatron’s frame with more confidence than he truly felt. The struts of his frame ached with relief when he finally untangled their legs and simply knelt between Megatron’s thighs and let his gaze linger. He appreciated Megatron’s frame frequently, both to himself and aloud, but it was rare for Megatron to not be in motion. Rarer even so to have him lying still without complaint.  _ Are you alright? _

Megatron shot him a look, indulgent despite his sneer.  _ i’m fine, orion. proceed. _

Proceed, Orion thought. Such effusively erotic phrasing from a poet. 

Megatron’s field unfurled, still reined in close to his frame but open enough that Orion could read the placid calm, as well as the growing ripple of arousal beneath it. It was a comfort, and Orion used it to ease himself back into character. 

He could do this. He had prodded Starscream into watching some vids with him and saying  _ yes, like that _ , or  _ no, that’s disgusting _ . It had been worth the mild discomfort to watch the flick of Starscream’s wings, the flush of energon to his protoform that he had attempted to mask with a show of irritation and annoyance. Orion had rewarded him for his openness by sucking his spike for nearly a joor, dragging it out until Starscream had openly cursed him and promised to sell him to the nearest black-market chop shop for parts. 

His frame warmed at the memory. He could do this.  _ They _ could do this, and even if it turned out they couldn’t, it would only take a quick comm to call it off. He took hold of Megatron’s waist with one hand and set the palm of the other against Megatron’s panel. 

A low growl reverberated through Megatron’s chassis, and Orion pressed more firmly, ground the heel of his hand over the lower half of Megatron’s array. His fingers were long enough to span with a little leeway, just enough flexibility for his fingertips to dip into the wiring at Megatron’s groin. He knew the layout intimately and nudged between two heavy cables. Megatron’s hips tilted minutely into the touch, those cables flexing around Orion’s joints.

There was heat beneath Megatron’s panel already, but Orion hesitated again, reaching with his field for Megatron’s. 

This they had also discussed in length. There had been a silent acknowledgement in the room of how much it had cost Starscream to ask, but that hadn’t stopped Orion from prodding Megatron again and again in roundabout ways. He knew to take Megatron at his word and yet he knew even better how deeply Megatron loathed admitting weakness. There hadn’t been much discussion allowed past the dismissive wave of Megatron’s hand as he said something along the lines of  _ it’s your fantasy, Starscream, whatever’s going to sell it. _

Megatron’s field was frenetic, hot and positive. His hands clenched and opened restlessly at his sides as Orion shifted and dug his fingertips into the seam of his panel. It unlatched with a quiet sound, Orion’s fingers moving quickly with it as though he had pulled it open himself. 

Despite Orion’s apprehensions, Megatron’s valve looked largely the same as any other he had seen. It was similar enough to his own. Unadorned, unmodded, and no less appealing for it. The fact that it was Megatron’s valve was the only truly unique factor. 

Orion thought only for a moment before he nudged Megatron's knees apart and bent to ghost his lips over the rim of Megatron's valve. Another surprised murmur came from the shadows, an echoing jolt of shock running through Megatron's frame. It wasn't a completely foreign path. Orion had slid fingers between Megatron's thighs before, while stroking his spike or leaning forward against Starscream's back as he rode Megatron, but had barely had the opportunity to pay more attention to it than that. This had seemed a strange impossibility before, a presumed preference on Megatron's part that he had never been made to voice. 

But Starscream had said: “Well, Orion, it'll be your prize. Your choice. That's part of… all this. Personally, however, I think he needs a thorough spiking.”

And Megatron had stared at the ceiling, sighed heavily and deflected, saying only: “Whatever you wish to do is acceptable.”

And in the space between the endless planning, thick with anticipation and consideration, Orion had thought again and again: “I wish to do this.”

The angle was far from comfortable. Orion slid his hands up Megatron's thighs to cup his aft and tilt his pelvis up, but he himself was still hunched over, his back bent awkwardly. If nothing else, Starscream could admire the view. Ah, yes. Orion adjusted his position again and angled one of Megatron's knees out so that Starscream, too, could glimpse Megatron's array. 

He resisted the urge to comm Megatron again, knowing his uncertainty would read clearly in his tone if it didn't already show in his posture. 

His mouth was slick already from a single teasing sweep. For some reason he hadn't expected Megatron to be so wet already, unstimulated as his frame was so far. Was that the effect of battle, however brief or fabricated? His time with Megatron had come after the pit fighting was finished. It sent a thrill of charge through Orion's plating to think that they might have come together like this in the back rooms of hastily constructed arenas, spent time and charge in some small space that was doomed to be demolished within the cycle. 

Orion parted his lips and made his glossa bold, licking firmly over the mesh folds of Megatron's valve. He kept his optics lit, watching the minute flex of Megatron's abdominal armor. He tasted much the same as others had done this for, but the rarity made it seem different still. The weighted heat of the room, of his field, hadn't diminished. If anything it had only shifted, tangling with Orion's field and deepening to something that thrummed in the delicate wires of Orion's sensornet. 

Briefly he considered putting Megatron on hands and knees to ease the strain of the position, but then he thought again: no. I wish to do  _ this. _ He wanted to be able to see Megatron's face. It would be generous of him to turn Megatron to face Starscream like that, but, selfishly, Orion wanted the inherent pleasure of looking at Megatron, doubly so the prospect of being the cause of any stifled moan. This way, perhaps, he would also be able to tell if something was discomfiting. 

He had to trust that Megatron would speak up if uncomfortable, but a part of him also knew that there was an equal chance that Megatron, being long used to persevering through stress and discomfort, would not recognize either feeling in himself, particularly now. 

Orion was distracting himself. It was rare that they played this way, preferring a more honest dynamic. Not that Orion found any dishonesty in this. He ran a finger down the center of Megatron's valve and then traced a slick line down one of his thighs. 

He was being watched, he knew, both by Starscream and Megatron. Unable to shrug off the impulse to show off, Orion stroked Megatron’s valve again, but this time curled his glossa around his finger and savored. He winked, knowing that Starscream would not see it, and felt the rumble of a subdued chuckle in Megatron's frame. 

"Pit fighter," Starscream said, sounding harried. "Get on with it."

"Yes, my lord," Orion answered. It was muffled against Megatron's valve as he licked more earnestly, with purpose now. Megatron's silence was only a challenge now. He would not reach for Orion, not in this moment where he was playing at being a prize, but nonetheless Orion felt the need to test that unshakeable control. 

Orion sat further up, pulling Megatron's hips up with him. A burst of annoyance made it through Megatron's field as he braced his feet and took the weight that Orion could not hold on his own. Another wink did not sway the tension in his thighs. They trembled ever so slightly when Orion directed his attention to Megatron's anterior node, dragged his lips over it and came back down with his glossa flat. 

He was tempted to do this as Starscream preferred it: uncoordinated, almost haphazard, his entire mouth working at once and fingers at play spreading the rim. He did, then, shift so that only one hand pretended to hold Megatron's hips up while the other was free to palm the open spread of him. The tips of two fingers dipped into the slickness, spread gently so that he could spy the deeper mesh of Megatron's valve between them. The tense of Megatron's calipers around his fingers took him out of his momentary reverie and he looked up to see Megatron's gaze hot and intent. 

He moved his hand and rocked deeper, until the middle joint of his fingers was past the rim. Megatron opened so easily around his fingers. It was its own delight to feel. Orion's spark burned in his chest. It was easier to be trusted with this when it was more eagerly given than he had let himself hope for. 

A muffled noise hummed through Megatron's chassis when Orion's fingers were fully seated. Orion answered it, unthinking, as he bent his head to mouth again over the heat of Megatron's node. He rocked his hand and sucked, jolting at the charge that leapt to his touch. It would be possible to coax Megatron to overload like this, Orion realized, and immediately after dampened the urge as he thought about the sensitivity of Megatron's array after an overload. Starscream was insatiable, and he himself had come to be able to rally quickly, but it was rare for Megatron to build charge twice in a night. And there was Starscream to consider, for whom, Orion thought with another wince, a tender and earnest display might break the illusion. 

He glanced over his shoulder. He was reluctant to use the safeword. Nothing was  _ wrong _ , he just needed to know—needed Starscream to say something to guide him. 

Starscream was still watching intently. The movement of his hand between his legs was clear now. It took a moment for Starscream to realize that Orion was looking at him. He froze when he did, sitting up straighter in his mock throne. The cape slid free of a shoulder, caught on the tip of a wing but pulled taut by his fidgeting. 

The reset of his vocalizer was audible in the silence. He reset it again, and a third time, before the sound of his voice was free of its rasp. "An underwhelming display," he said. "Hardly worthy of such an adept fighter."

"My lord?" Orion asked. It was harder for the title to feel ironic under the weight of Starscream's regard. 

Starscream sat up even straighter, leaning forward until the imperious tilt of his mouth was visible in the ring of light. "Take him," Starscream ordered. "As is your right."

Orion nodded. His relief was strong, but paled in comparison to the rising urge in his array as he looked back to Megatron and found his position unchanged, his optics dim as they mapped Orion's chassis. The shake of his thighs had ceased. Orion could feel the tension in them still, but he held firm, barely rocking forward onto Orion's fingers and even then so gently that Orion hadn't felt it before. 

The heat in his field overwhelmed Orion as he pulled his hand free and shoved Megatron's hips to the floor. Megatron's field jumped in tune with his own. Orion wanted—he couldn't find a coherent sentiment in the mess of his desires. He wanted, as he always did, to please. 

_ Megatron?  _ he asked. 

"Do your worst," Megatron said aloud. 

Orion shivered. He pulled, then, barely managing to slide Megatron over the floor but doing his best to make it look convincing as he hauled one of Megatron's legs over his hip and straddled the other himself. Megatron's chassis twisted, his array aimed toward Starscream while his shoulders remained flat. Immovable. 

His array had come online at some point, heedless of his attempts at restraint. Instinct was a powerful thing, and lucky that it played into the scene at hand. He stroked his spike with the hand still sticky with Megatron's lubricant. The room had gone truly quiet, save for their vents mixing into a quiet tune, one reassuringly familiar to Orion as it overlaid his own pulsing fuel pump. 

Orion did not bother with teasing as Starscream liked to. He set the head of his spike against Megatron's valve and rolled his hips forward. Megatron’s frame yielded easily to his own and his spike sank deep, surprising him yet again with the simplicity. 

Megatron cursed quietly, drowned out by Orion's own noise. The sudden clenching heat around his spike did overwhelm him then and he had to pause with his fans racing to adjust. Megatron's surging charge, though flattering, did little to calm him.

When he opened his optics again, Megatron's stare had only intensified. He could see the fraying edges of Megatron's attempt at a glare, could spot the places that it had softened into the typical expression Megatron wore when it was just the two of them. Starscream could bring out the glare, the competitive edge, the simultaneous indulgence and frustration that played off each other until the tension spilled over into a mess of their complementary intensities, their warring urges to show off and take more selfish pleasures. With Orion it had only ever been a frantic tenderness that threatened to overwhelm even as it worked itself out in every hurried tryst. 

Orion's spark prickled as he remembered clinging to Megatron in their berth, desperate to patch the aching holes in their home. They were whole now, he reassured himself. The tingle in his backstrut told him of how intently Starscream was watching them and the whine of fans behind them assured him that it was good. They were doing well. They had been trusted with this and would follow through. Megatron, frame still and tense beneath him, his hands tensing and releasing only to grip the floor, trusted him with this. 

Megatron's field pulled his close, encouragement bleeding through. 

The worry bled from Orion's frame. He smothered another laugh as Megatron winked, in full view of Starscream no less. There was an irritated huff from behind them, but Orion ignored it. He pinned Megatron's knee over his side and rocked his hips. It was no less intense the second time, the ripple of Megatron's valve firm around his spike. 

He found his rhythm to the click and catch of Megatron's left ventral fan. Ratchet told him almost every time they saw each other to get it fixed, but it always fell to the wayside, a comforting knock and wobble that Orion heard on the edge of sleep almost every night and louder, now, as Megatron's fans worked harder to dispel heat that Orion's frame only urged higher. 

The clang of plating was loud in the quiet. In the past Orion might have felt self-conscious, but being fragged in the alcoves of at least a dozen benefit galas had somewhat immunized him to the concept of shame. His world narrowed to the slide and clench of his spike in Megatron's valve as their nodes exchanged charge that rolled through his backstrut and lit up his processor. 

"Is that your worst?" Megatron taunted. His field sparked with amusement as Orion gripped his leg tighter and leaned into his next thrust, faster and with his weight behind it. 

Orion found himself smiling and didn't bother hiding it. It felt sharp already, fittingly like Starscream on a good day when he pinned Orion with a look and pounded him into the berth. 

It was a pity Orion wasn't bigger. Megatron's charge jumped each time he threw his weight behind his hips, and Orion could only imagine what he could accomplish with an additional mechanometer and a heavier frame. He hiked Megatron's leg a little higher, hooking it over his forearm before he planted his other hand at Megatron's side and thrust forward again, the angle sharper. 

He groaned, drowning out Megatron's grunt as the head of his spike struck deeper. Megatron swore when he did it again, faster now with his confidence. Already Orion was thinking about settling Megatron in Starscream's lap, held fast not with rope or cuffs but with the sweetly condescending petting of his helm and his shoulders, and Orion lying between his legs, fingers deep in his valve for joors as he mapped out each place that led Megatron to cursing and twisting hungrily into the touch. 

He would start here, Orion vowed to himself as he ducked closer, he would start with this cluster at the roof of Megatron's valve that made him roll into each movement. The floor would have to be buffed free of the scratches Megatron's fingers dug in it. 

It was a pity they couldn't kiss this time. He wanted to lick into Megatron's mouth the way he had his valve. If he pricked his glossa on Megatron's teeth, so much the better. They could match each other in that, in Megatron's slow-healing nick and Orion's swollen glossa. 

"Is that enough?" Orion asked, half-concerned and half-taunting. His smile, having slackened, grew again at the desperate twist of Megatron's field. The lines had blurred just enough between the play and the reality. "I can do worse."

He ground in at the deepest point of his thrust and another grunt escaped the grip of Megatron's teeth. An arc of charge snapped to his spike housing from Megatron's node as they met and separated. Megatron's frame arched beneath him, bearing down on his spike. The mosaic tile of the floor splintered in Megatron's grip. Oh, Starscream would be upset about that tomorrow. 

"Can you?" Megatron repeated. "You've gone soft in your victory, Orion."

Orion could not help but shiver at his name said so sharply by Megatron's sneering mouth. It was hard to stop now that he had started. He had to will his plating to stillness, even expanded as it was to dump the heat of his frame.

"Careful," Orion said. "One might think you were enjoying this, Megatron." His voice was unsteady but he made his touch firm as he hauled Megatron's hips up, forced the twist of his chassis that much tighter and pulled him into each thrust. His strength was hardly a match for Megatron’s bulk, but the playful disdain on Megatron's face went slack with the force in the moment before he grappled for a hold on Orion’s chassis.

Orion let him touch, to the pit with how it looked. It very nearly passed for desperation, and Orion believed it was close. Megatron's valve pulsed around him, yielding and hungry for more, for whatever Orion had to give him. The grooves in the floor deepened with a hypnotic squeal of metal on ceramic. 

This was what happened, Orion mused, when equipment went disused for so long. Hadn't it been like this for himself as well, the first few times he had tripped into the berth with Megatron? Megatronus, then, and perhaps not berths at the time, perhaps only shaded alcoves around the Council chamber and the hallway of his habsuite. Stolen moments. No hint of the time they took now, not in the raucous bite of Megatron's mouth on his in the instant before he plugged in and completed the circuit. 

Megatron's spike had not even pressurized tonight. It may have been intentional, another way to feed into Starscream's muddled desires despite not being explicitly on the docket. Then again, as Orion dragged a thumb over the irised cover, it may have just been the sensory overload of having Orion attend to his valve. The level of charge that Megatron's body could withstand was great, but it was not infinite. Something so intense, with no opportunity for desensitization, could monopolize his protocols. 

Orion bit his lip, grinding deeper. Megatron's hand gripped the edge of a windshield and held fast so that Orion could only frag him in short bucks, barely pulling out before he slid back in. 

Charge snapped from Megatron's fingers to the protoform surrounding Orion's spark. Whatever noise came from his vocalizer was incoherent, his processor wrapped up in the stammering jolt to his spark, the fierce heat of Megatron's optics, valve, field as his joints locked in a severe arch and charge dispelled in a crackling burst that nearly shorted Orion's optics. 

Orion rocked gently now into the grip of Megatron's body. The hand on his windshield tightened until Orion heard the creaking of the glass, and then relaxed. Heat welled in Orion's frame in the wake of the touch. He clung fast to Megatron's knee, ready to thrust again when the wave passed, when the enrapturing iron hold of Megatron's overload broke and allowed him to move. 

"Orion."

Megatron was truly beautiful like this. Orion had always found in him a certain grace, even in his moments of brutality. Perhaps especially then. The pulse of his half-closed optics beat in time with the aftershocks that rolled through his frame in quiet snaps. He was silent, save his hissing intakes. 

" _ Orion. _ "

He froze. 

Megatron made a soft, demanding noise then, and tugged at his chassis. The throb of Orion's field likely broadcast how achingly close he was to climax. He wanted it—to drive back into Megatron's willing frame. 

But— 

"Yes?" he said. He closed his optics, blocked out the pressure on his spike as Megatron shifted beneath him. There was nothing for it, in the end: Orion took Megatron's hips in his hands and pulled out, ignoring the heady pulse of energon through his spike and the dismayed noise that Megatron made, clearly despite himself. He let Megatron's leg fall back to his hip and rubbed his knuckles against the rim of Megatron's valve in apology. 

"Yes, my lord?" he tried again, and was answered by a satisfied sound in Starscream's throat. 

"Come here," Starscream said. 

Orion's plating shivered in an uncontrolled ripple. This was the part that had left him uncertain, the part he had vaguely dreaded, only a little and only in the way that made his spark ache for fear of disappointing. He hadn't overloaded. Megatron had. The progression of the actual, literal plot tree that Starscream had drawn up prior had several options for each stage. 

"Ah, ah," Starscream said, holding on well-polished hand up when Orion attempted to stand. "On your knees. You may crawl."

Orion felt Megatron tense beneath him, even lax in his post-coital stupor as he was, and laid a hand on his chassis to soothe him. The loss of Megatron's legs around his waist helped his processor to clear, however abhorrent it was to leave him. He turned, then, toward Starscream. It was hardly the first time he had been reduced to hands and knees on the floor of their berthroom. Megatron's field tugged at his in parting as he moved toward Starscream. 

His fans spun in the inevitable spike of embarrassment that was tapping into any given 'character'. Starscream liked him as visibly subservient as possible when given the choice, so he kept his helm bent and was rewarded with the humming intensity of Starscream's field as he moved closer. 

Orion didn't dare speak or touch, even when his helm nearly touched the neat curve of Starscream's pede. He only knelt at the table's edge. It was the base of the _ throne _ , he reminded himself. 

Starscream's legs shifted, uncrossing. Orion lifted his helm a fraction to watch Starscream's knees spread to reveal his primed array, and felt another twitch of charge race through his own systems. 

"You've performed well, gladiator," Starscream said. His field plucked and tangled with Orion's, tangibly pleased with the heated frenzy of Orion's frequencies. Orion chanced another upward tilt of his helm. Starscream reached to the side of his chair, behind the spill of his robe, and brought back a slim bottle. "Are you hungry?"

He knew well enough that Orion was. They had all skipped their evening refuelling. Starscream had said something about how sweet the reward would be when they finished, but Orion  _ had _ actually bothered to read each thread within Starscream's sprawling potential of their evening. 

He knew better. Starscream knew that he did. He broke the seal off the bottle and the smell of the engex within hit Orion's glossa almost immediately. 

Starscream raised the bottle to the rim of a thin-stem goblet and poured. He sipped, then drank deeply and sighed. "A fine vintage."

It was. It had cost more than Orion's detailing for an entire orn. He had promised Starscream never to tell Megatron just how much he had spent on this one luxury. It was, after all, for the greater good.

The next turn of Starscream's wrist was so deliberate that Orion trembled. He clenched his hands on his thighs and gave up pretending to look away in humility when his spike was still fully pressurized, and throbbed faintly with his sparkbeat. Engex spilt in a faint pink thread over Starscream's chassis, pooling in his hip joints and then running over his bared array. Orion couldn't look away from the mix of each bead of engex with internal lubricants. 

"Help yourself," Starscream said, an order and not an offer. 

Orion leant in, lapping up a stray drip of energon from Starscream's thigh. The shiver of plating under his glossa only drove him forward, emboldened his attempts to clean Starscream's chassis. He skirted the edge of Starscream's array, tracing the edge of one thinly armored hip joint instead. The taste burst fully on his glossa, lit his mouth in sweet tandem with his array as he noted the compulsive flex of Starscream's armor. His hands gripped his knees, determined to stay the course. 

Starscream scoffed, not half as cruelly or convincingly as Orion knew him capable of. Orion held still as Starscream's hand slid down his front and wrapped around his spike. He pumped his hand twice, smearing engex over each smooth plate, before he angled it toward Orion's lips. 

"Open," Starscream demanded. 

Orion parted his lips. 

The head of Starscream's spike dragged over the side of his face before nestling into the curve of his glossa. He kept his mouth open. As he had expected, Starscream's fingers traced the edges of his lips, then dipped inward to play with the soft mesh of his mouth. There was engex trapped between the delicate plates of Starscream’s spike that only wet Orion’s tongue with each minute shift. Even dimmed, his optics picked up the tells of Starscream's arousal. Each gaping armor seam was familiar to him, as was the resurgent click of Megatron’s fans behind them. The cape that Starscream had so carefully draped over his shoulders was slightly askew now, bunched over his left side and brushing against Orion's shoulder. 

It was soft—he had known it would be, despite how dusty as it had been when he'd pulled it out of a crate in the ancient, yawning chasm that was the Council's storage room. Even so, the rasp of the material over Starscream's neatly waxed plating only served to deepen the illusion. Orion threw himself back into the moment. Starscream liked unquestioning devotion; Starscream liked to be served. 

Starscream was also impatient. He slipped a thumb into the side of Orion's mouth and tugged his head forward, sliding his spike deeper. The engex made his lubricants taste sweeter than normal, still sharp enough to send Orion's chemoreceptors spiraling. On such a low tank, even the meager amount of high-grade had his lines buzzing. He worked his glossa gently over the underside of Starscream's spike and was rewarded by the dig of Starscream's fingertips into the underside of his jaw. It didn't hurt, but the slight discomfort centered him. 

"That's right," Starscream murmured. His other arm slung, ungainly, over the armrest of his throne as he tugged Orion's helm back and forth over his spike. "This is what you were made for, isn't it?"

Starscream had a tendency toward the degrading, but Starscream had also sat in silent fury, carefully stroking the edge of Orion's helm the night he had finally felt safe enough to talk about his time in the Hall of Records and the thin glinting shards of hope he had felt looking out of the lone window on his floor. Once he had been able to reach out and seize that hope with his own hands, it hadn't felt so foolish. He hadn't felt foolish at all when he had lain with his head in Starscream's lap, Megatron not far from them and yet too incensed to sit still, instead pacing the room, following the line of their own shared window as the cold night wind blew through Iacon. He had felt Starscream's vicious pride, yes, not so eloquently expressed but evident nonetheless in the way he had later seized Orion's face in his hands and rocked down against him, grinding his frame into Orion's—and thus Orion's frame into Megatron's—hard enough to scrape paint.

And so here, now, Orion nodded and pretended, even, to gag a tiny bit as Starscream's spike slid deeper. It was something of a private joke between himself and Megatron, made real in the way Starscream's optics burned that little bit brighter. 

Starscream's hand moved to the back of Orion's helm and pushed him down in earnest. He had slumped further in his seat and spread his legs. Among the masses Starscream was fond of critiquing posture and poise. Here his wings were certainly twitching inside their cloth trappings, his aft was sliding gradually toward the edge of the chair, and every time Orion made a helpless noise in the back of his throat his hips hitched up a little harder. 

Orion heard the snap of Starscream’s fingers, a click in his vocalizer, but his other hand still held Orion’s helm and rocked it. The order, then, was not for him. 

That was good, because Orion’s processor had finally phased out some of his higher functions. He existed. He reminded himself not to reach out, not now. Later, he could—and later, he would. For now he kept his fists tight on his thighs. The hand on his helm traced the line of his audial and he shivered, falling further forward and catching himself before he could touch Starscream with anything other than his mouth. Starscream swore and thumbed his audial again, dipping into the sensitive sensory funnel at the side of his helm. Orion jerked. The momentum made his spike sway, made him aware again of its simple existence. 

He ached for a moment before warmth encircled the base of his spike. It was not one of his own hands, he knew, he confirmed with the twitch of his fingers on his own plating. There was—oh, a field buzzed against his own, a familiar clicking vent rhythm sounding at his back. 

Megatron kissed his shoulder and the base of his neck, careful of the flex of Orion’s cabling as Starscream used his mouth. His hand was so warm on Orion’s spike. 

“That’s it,” Starscream said. He slid a thumb into Orion’s mouth again and Orion onlined his optics. 

He was not supposed to overload before Starscream did. But Starscream’s control was growing thin, evident in the brightness of his optics and the restless shift of his abdominal plating. 

They locked optics. Starscream’s mouth, slightly slack, tightened into a smirk. 

“Look at you,” he said. His voice could be so low, sometimes, Orion thought, and then lost it as Megatron thumbed the head of his spike. “Look at the both of you.”

Megatron’s engine rumbled in warning. The vibration rolled straight through Orion’s frame and he groaned around Starscream’s spike, closed his mouth and sucked hard. 

“Frag,” Starscream hissed. He tugged Orion’s helm into his lap and held him there as he spilt transfluid down his throat, frame buzzing with the release of charge. 

Orion reached, then, forgetting himself, for Starscream’s hips. His hands slid clumsily around Starscream’s waist until his arms locked, holding him in place with his spike still laid heavily on Orion’s glossa. 

Megatron’s engine revved again, deliberate and sustained as he twisted his palm up the length of Orion’s spike. Orion rocked back against him and a steady warmth matched the charge gathering in his array. The arms around his frame tightened further and held him still, held him there with his mouth pressed to Starscream’s array and his aft half in Megatron’s lap, unable even to shift more than minutely into the quickening circle of Megatron’s fingers. 

Overload came swiftly, intensely, rattling through Orion’s frame and leaving him tense and tingling with the aftershocks. He held fast to the frame in his arms, vaguely aware of a hand stroking the side of his face, the low murmur of his name. 

He re-centered quickly, as he normally did. When he managed to get his optics back online, his helm was resting on Starscream’s thigh. The indulgent petting of his cheek slowed to a stop as Starscream nudged his chin up and examined him closely. 

“Not broken after all,” Starscream declared. 

“I told you he would be fine." 

“The concern is touching, regardless,” Orion said, cycling his optics until the chromatic aberrations faded. Megatron had lifted him and set him fully in his lap, laid right up against that rumbling engine. He took Starscream’s hand from his face and held it in his own. The little hydraulics in Starscream’s palm were twitching. Orion drew his fingers along them until they settled and stilled. “How was it?”

Starscream stiffened. Ah, yes. He could run his vocalizer until it glitched if he was talking about the state of Orion’s valve, but never failed to balk in the aftermath. 

“It was… adequate,” Starscream said, looking somewhere above Orion’s helm. “You  _ did _ manage to break the floor, so I suppose the performance was rather… inspired.”

“I think what Starscream  _ means _ to say is that you were exemplary,” Megatron said. 

“Yes, well…” Starscream trailed off. His hand clasped Orion’s. “I suppose so.” 

“And you?” Orion asked, tilting his head to eye Megatron. “Are you well?”

Megatron rested his chin on Orion’s shoulder and paused to consider that. “I will be much better once we are all clean again. And well-fueled. For whatever reason, there is engex in my internals and none in my tank.” 

Starscream made a quiet, derisive noise, but followed along complacently enough as Megatron disentangled himself and led the way to their washrack. 

Orion had not realized just how exhausted he was until the hot solvent washed over his plating. He slumped back against Megatron’s broad chassis, content to be shifted around and not have to stand of his own accord. Starscream dipped under his armor every so often, meticulous as he was about things of that nature. 

The tap was shut off eventually and Orion was unhurriedly dried off and herded back to the berthroom. 

Someone had turned the spotlight off and raised the room’s lighting to half power, transforming it somehow back to a familiar space. Orion settled on the berth and watched as Megatron went out for a final check of their home’s locks. 

Starscream, meanwhile, passed by the mess of the mock-throne without sparing it a glance. It would inevitably fall to Orion or Megatron to move the chair and the table back out to the sitting room. He found he couldn’t summon the energy to be annoyed about it, just now, especially not with Starscream climbing over him to wedge himself into the side of the berth against the wall. 

“You did well,” Starscream admitted. 

Orion felt himself flush with a fresh ripple of pride. “Thank you.”

“And you enjoyed yourself?” 

A hand came to rest on his chest, rubbing gently over the faint claw marks at the edge of his windshield. 

“I did,” Orion answered. “I daresay Megatron did as well.”

Starscream snorted. “Of course he did. I told you he would.”

“Ordinarily I would hesitate to assume something like that,” Orion said. “But in this instance I believe you were right.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Megatron said from the doorway. “I already told you he was going to be insufferable, you don’t need to stroke his ego any further.”

Starscream waved a dismissive hand, too tired, it seemed, to argue.

Orion watched Megatron pass the lofted chair. Unlike Starscream, he did turn to look, but with an odd mix of disdain and indulgence. He stopped suddenly and bent to pick up the discarded engex bottle. He studied the label, his expression darkening.

Of course, Orion thought. It could never be an entirely peaceful night. 

“Starscream,” Megatron said. “How much did you spend on this?”

**Author's Note:**

> so ages ago, the primacy gc said 'well what if starscream wanted orion and megatron to fight for his amusement?' and escalated to 'well what if starscream wanted orion to win a "fight" against megatron and then spike him, both for starscream's amusement and to fulfill his self-conscious desire to be powerful?'
> 
> and here we are.
> 
> happy one year anniversary to primacy!


End file.
